Christmas lights
by Miss Puppet
Summary: He had lost her. He had pushed her away once too often. Whatever love she had ever held for him, he had ruined it. If only he could ruin his own love, his own longing for her just as effectively. Anna/John and a smidgen of Carson/Hughes. Already AU!


_A/N: Hi everyone, meet my rebound fic. I started this after I finished Honour bound, but before the start of season 2. I tried to stay away from spoilers as much as possible, but this story is the result of the few I did see. Since yesterday evening this story is of course spectacularly AU, but well... since we´re currently drowning in Anna/John angst this might help just a little.  
>Also, I must be mad to write a Christmas story half way through september, but here we are...<br>Many thanks to my beta-reader _**stuckinpast**_ for proof-reading it so quickly. _

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><p><strong>Christmas lights<br>**_Rated_: K  
><em>Pairings<em>: Bates/Anna, Carson/Hughes (who have hijacked the story as per usual)  
>Disclaimer: It could not be less mine. Julian Fellowes wrote Downton Abbey, which is produced by Carnival Films for ITV Network.<br>_Spoilers_: I have managed to stay more or less spoiler free regarding season 2. The few spoilers I did catch are woven into the story, so I guess if you want to stay *completely* spoiler free and you have lived underneath an even greater rock then I have for the past weeks, you shouldn´t read on.  
><em>Summary<em>: He had lost her. He had pushed her away once too often. Whatever love she had ever held for him, he had ruined it. If only he could ruin his own love, his own longing for her just as effectively.  
><em>Genre<em>: angst/romance… in that order

_December 1918_

It had been snowing softly all afternoon, covering the grounds with powder white flakes. By the time darkness fell, the grounds around the Grantham estate and Downton village were covered in a thick blanket. Because of the snow it never became fully dark. It was a clear night with many stars and a bright moon shining and its light, combined with the lights of the street lanterns and headlights of the motorcars, caused the snow to sparkle and glow. There was something magical about the atmosphere. A fresh batch of snow, only two days before Christmas, made everybody feel giddy and excited, especially as this was the night of the annual performance of Downton´s theatrical society. It was one of those events that brought the entire village together in the village hall.

The air was icy and crisp and although the roads were a bit more treacherous after the first snowfall, John Bates found he enjoyed the walk with the other servants from the great house to the village nevertheless. There was something surreal about being outside now. Silently he mused that with the spotless blanket of snow it seemed like all the evil and wickedness had disappeared from the world. It was almost impossible to comprehend that only very recently a gruesome war had raged over Europe, taking and shattering thousands of lives. And now it was Christmas again, a steadfast reminder that there still was such a thing as peace and perhaps even grace.

Gradually he was falling behind, like he so often did, his bad leg slowing him down, even more so now he had to take extra care with every step he took. He watched the others as they walked in front of him. Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes were only a few foot away, not walking very fast either. The housekeeper´s one hand was tucked around his elbow and her other hand was lying securely on his arm. They were walking rather close together and talking softly to each other. Every now and then he could detect the butler´s low rumbled laugh.

He gazed fondly at the scene in front of him, trying at the same time to ignore a faint tingle of jealousy. To the unobservant eye it looked like he was simply supporting her on their walk, but in truth it was her who was supporting him. And he needed it, now more than ever. The stress of the past four years, working with a severely reduced staff, his constant worry about the men of Downton that had been drafted to fight in the war and the pressure he put on himself, trying to maintain his ever high standards of household management had taken a heavy toll on Charles Carson, the man that many considered to be indestructible.

It had happened that summer on a stifling hot and humid day. His Lordship had invited some friends from Oxfordshire and dinner that evening had been a rather formal event. Ever since they´d had to let the two footmen go, Carson had grudgingly agreed to allow housemaids in the dining room to serve. Usually it was Anna who was chosen among the staff and she had been there that evening as well. As she had later told the rest of the staff, if Mr Carson had felt any of it coming, he had managed to hide it superbly. In retrospect, all she could recall was the fact that he looked just a bit more flustered than usual, but she had written that off to the weather. One moment he was standing to attention, perfectly still as usual, the next moment he´d collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud. He had been unconscious before he started to sag, so he had not in any way been able to catch his fall, causing him to fall square on the ground, the side of his face hitting the floor, leaving an enormous bruise.

His sudden fall had caused a great uproar. Lord Grantham had jumped to his feet instantly, uttering a shocked cry, his worry for the butler´s condition apparent. But it had been Lady Mary who had reached him first, dropping to her knees on the ground, all thoughts of propriety gone from her mind. It had been her who´d rolled him gently on his back, had checked his injuries and had called his name fervently.

Anna, after only a moment of pause, had quickly come to a decision and had hurried downstairs to inform Mrs Hughes. The normally unflappable housekeeper had turned chalk-white when she heard what had happened, but as soon as Anna was finished talking, she had stormed up the stairs and burst into the dining room.

By that time Lady Mary had managed to revive Carson, and although he was unsteady on his feet and not yet completely clear in his head, he had been able to stand. Supported between Mrs Hughes and Lady Mary, who´d refused to leave his side, he had managed to walk out of the dining room, more or less on his own feet. He was taken to nearest available bedroom, which happened to be one of the guestrooms.

Dr Clarkson, who had already been notified, concluded he had suffered a mild heart attack, and prescribed a week of complete rest. After that it had become clear rather quickly that if he didn´t want a repeat of the incident he simply _had _to take things slower.

Soon it became equally apparent that it was in fact Mrs Hughes who was willing to fight head and toe to make certain he would never again let his health suffer in the way that he had. She bore his anger and resentment with calmness and endless patience. She was there for him with her care and compassion when he went through an almost mourning-like phase, realizing he just couldn´t do what he had been capable of doing twenty-five years ago. She stood by him, unwavering, steadfast and fiercely loyal. It took months, but then he finally allowed himself to be cared for by her. And he never quite noticed that the more he let her in, the more he leant on her, the lighter her burden seemed to become.

Tearing his eyes away from the couple in front of him, he looked a little further down the road. Anna and Daisy were walking arm in arm and even from the distance he could hear the kitchen maid´s enthusiastic chatter. Her bouncy step-spring way of walking was in sharp contrast to Anna´s even, collected tread. Anna… As always his heart constricted painfully. When she turned her head he could catch a glimpse of her face, hidden in a white woollen scarf, leaving only a part of her cheeks and eyes visible. All he could do these days was watch from afar how she carried out her duties, laughed with Daisy or Lily and looked after all those she cared for. He watched and longed and cursed his own folly.

Downton village especially had embraced the Christmas season with vigour. The windows of the shops were decorated with holly, angles and figures of Father Christmas. Even the street lanterns were wrapped in pine tree branches. On their way to the village hall he passed the village square with the tall Christmas tree. Numerous lights were shining from between the branches and the smell of pinewood washed over him as he made his way to the entrance. A barrel organ was playing Christmas tunes and even though the occasional note went awry it added greatly to the jolly atmosphere.

Inside the village hall stood another ceiling-high Christmas tree, decorated with candles, glass ornaments and red ribbons. The main hall was filled with the noise of soft talking and scraping of chairs that was produced by the audience who were eagerly anticipating the performance of _Othello_ that evening. He found himself sitting in the row behind Anna, only a few chairs away from her. In order to look at the stage he had to look past her face and a few minutes after the curtains had opened and the play had begun he conceded to the fact that he wouldn´t see much of what was going on onstage, but would gaze at her instead. It had been a long time since he had been able to just watch her for such a lengthy period of time without having to be on his guard or being disturbed and he took his chance, now that it presented itself, with surprisingly little guilt.

The hall had been darkened, but the lights coming from the stage illuminated her face just enough for him to be able to see. Although Othello was a tragedy of the first order, there were some humorous moments in the beginning and he watched as the smile flickered across her face. Slowly as the play progressed he found himself getting caught up in the story nevertheless. Othello, the fool of Venice. The man who had found true love, but managed to forfeit it by making one stupid choice after another. It hit suspiciously close to home.

Four years ago he´d had his chance with her. The simmering attraction between them, her bold declaration, and his realisation that he just needed her in his life, had all accumulated to them drifting slowly, but most definitely closer together during that first autumn of the war. He began to seek her out of his own accord more and more, drawing her to him as he was drawn to her. The walls around him crumbled steadily and although, if he were honest with himself, he felt terrified of letting her in and risking his heart again, he simply couldn´t stay away.

They´d gone slow, very slow, partly because he didn´t have the guts to go faster at first. It had started with small touches and lingering looks and finally that first kiss during a walk back from the village one sunny afternoon in October. How long had he believed that they could make it work? Two weeks, three at most? Had he really believed it at all?

All his hopes, all his dreams had been dashed the day his wife had returned. Vera, his past, his sin, his condemnation. He had chilled at the look of anger and resentment in her eyes. And an icy feeling of dread had closed around his heart when he knew, simply knew for certain that she would do anything that lay within her power to make him pay for all the wrongs he had done her. Foremost in his thoughts had been this fierce, invincible urge to protect Anna from her, to make sure that she wouldn´t be harmed by Vera´s revenge. Vera must never know about Anna, must never know what had almost been between them.

And so in a wave of blind panic he had ended everything with Anna, in the cruellest, most hurtful way he could. He had closed his heart to her words and pleas when he told her she should find another man. He had walked away without looking back as she broke down and cried. He had closed his eyes to her pale face and grief-filled eyes in the weeks that followed, convincing himself that he was doing the right thing, that he was keeping her safe from his past, from his demons.

For months he had lived in this state of denial, not allowing himself to feel anything. Not her grief and not his own heartbreak. He didn´t even feel anything towards Vera anymore. Nothing of the love he had once held for her or any of the loathing he had first felt upon her return. He had become a shell of a man, his body carrying out his duties, but his soul dispatched from it all. When his mother died, he didn´t shed a tear. He´d gone to London to arrange the funeral and to sort out the house and her possessions, but it almost felt he was arranging someone else´s affairs.

In the end, one good thing had come from it. Realising that she couldn´t reach him anymore, couldn´t hurt him anymore, because he simply wasn´t there, Vera had once again disappeared from his life, but this time not before agreeing to a divorce. It had cost him all of his mother´s inheritance, but he was finally free from her.

Only when Vera was gone he had come back to himself and his sense had been restored. The grief and regret had almost devastated him. Every emotion he had pushed away so vehemently had come back to overwhelm him. He had mourned his mother´s loss and the regret of not having really said goodbye to her. And he had cried bitter tears over the loss of the love his life. For he had lost Anna, completely and irreversibly.

He had tried to ease back in their friendship, but the soft jokes and gentle puns that had once made her eyes sparkle and shine with devotion, now fell on deaf ears. She was polite and friendly towards him and at times even kind, but she had locked her heart to him. She might sit right next to him during dinner, but she couldn´t have been further away at the same time. Their arms might brush as she reached over for the salt, but she was unapproachable, untouchable to him.

He had lost her. And he only had himself to blame for that. And after years of wallowing in regret, shame and, as he finally admitted to himself, self-pity, he found that this was the greatest regret of his life.

But he still loved her. Loved her fiercely and unconditionally. Was in love with her. After six years she still took his breath away. His heart still missed a beat when she smiled, even if her smiles were no longer directed at him. His love remained strong and steadfast, even if it was deprived of all hope.

The thundering applause shook him out of his reverie. The performance had ended. Othello was dead and so was Desdemona. The cheerful Christmas decorations suddenly seemed to mock him and the whole idea of Christmas felt laughable to him. He glanced at her face one more time and noticed her cheeks were wet with tears, although she was clapping along with the others. It caused his heart to swell until it felt too big for his chest. The urge to reach out to her and comfort her, to take her in his arms and kiss all her sorrows away was overwhelming, but was immediately followed by the grim realisation that he, off all people was the last one to take away her sadness.

After the performance there was punch and stollen. To him the gaiety of the atmosphere in the room was almost unbearable. He longed to be back at Downton, to be back in his room, back to his solitude. From the quiet corner in which he stood he scanned the room, looking for her golden blonde hair. When he didn´t spot her, he frowned and looked again. She wasn´t there, that much was certain. Placing his cup of punch on one of the tables, he made his way to the hallway, all the while looking around if he could see her anywhere.

She wasn´t in the hallway either and he quickly shrugged into his coat, his worry increasing. No matter what, or no matter what wasn´t there between them anymore, he would always watch out for her. Stepping outside and shivering against the freezing cold air of the night, he looked over the village centre and finally caught sight of her. She was leaning against the gazebo, in the shadow of the stairs and he could only just make out her form in the darkness.

Crossing over to where she was standing, all coherent thought or common sense left him. He only wanted, needed to make sure she was alright.

´Anna…´ he called her name softly as he reached her, noticing the tears on her cheeks and the way she furiously tried to brush them away, sniffling slightly.

´Mr Bates…´ her voice was just that tad breathless and he saw her lips tremble as she spoke. ´I just… it was so crowded in there, I felt I had to get away from it…´ taking another deep breath, she rattled on. ´It was quite the performance, wasn´t it?´

´It certainly was,´ he agreed solemnly. Seeing how she was still wiping her cheeks, he reached into the pocket of his waistcoat, retrieved his handkerchief and handed it to her. The relief he felt when she took it was indescribable.

She dabbed her eyes and met his gaze, offering him an embarrassed smile. ´I must look quite a sight,´ she said apologetically.

´You look beautiful,´ he told her. The words were out of his mouth before he could check himself. Feeling himself redden, he looked down, the embarrassment his now. Because of it he never saw her eyes widen, never saw her swallow with difficulty.

´I´m sorry…´ he finally met her eyes, only to find her staring incredulously at him. His smile turned wistful and his voice was heavy with regret when he said: ´I should not have said that. We´ve moved past this point a long time ago.´

She was staring at him, those big, grey eyes unreadable and for the life of it, he couldn´t look away. ´Did we now?´ she asked softly.

´Well…´ he answered slowly. ´I certainly seemed to have managed to push you past that point.´ His attempted lightness fell flat when his voice grew hoarse at the end of the sentence. He had lost her. He had pushed her away once too often. Too harshly and too far away. And the reality of it caused his heart to tighten painfully. Whatever love she had ever held for him, he had ruined it. If only he could ruin his own love, his own longing for her just as effectively.

´Did _you_ ever move past that point?´ Her question came so sudden, so unexpected that it left him blinking and struggling for any coherent thought. His heart already burst with love because of her bold, honest question. His beautiful, brave, fearless Anna who looked truth straight in the eye instead of hiding behind secrets and riddles.

To be able to answer her just as truthfully for once. To speak his mind – his heart for once. It wasn´t like he had anything left to lose.

He looked down at his feet for an instance, formulating an answer and mustering the courage to voice it.

´I could not– will not ever stop loving you, Anna,´ his voice was laced with pain, but he did look back into her eyes again, wanting to see her reaction when he finally made his declaration and take the memory of it with him. ´I may have failed you in every other way, but you do have my heart.´

He watched as the emotions played across her face. Pain, confusion, regret, a hint of anger. He saw her eyes grow moist, a tear forming in the corner of her eye, until it spilled over and he watched, mesmerized, as it rolled down over her cheek towards the corner of her mouth, leaving a trace that shimmered in the light of the street lantern.

Slowly and very carefully he reached out and touched the back of his index finger to her cheek, brushing the tear away gently. The softness of her cheek and the look of surprise in her eyes captivating him. For once not fighting the impulse, he leaned in and kissed her cheek softly, tasting the saltiness there and breathing in the scent of her skin, his nose brushing hers for a split second as he pulled back.

Of course it was the stupidest, most foolish thing he could have done. The moment he drew back his heart began to ache with the loss of her. Even this mere ghost of a touch left him wanting for more.

´I love you,´ he said again, his voice tainted with remorse, ´I know you don´t… not anymore. I know I´ve ruined everything that could have been between us, but…´

´John…´ Her frustrated sigh effectively stopped his words and she shook her head impatiently. ´Why do you always assume the worst? What makes you think I don´t love you anymore?´

All air left his lungs at her words and he struggled for breath. ´You-´ he finally managed to grunt out, ´you still love me?´

´Yes!´ she cried, ´Although believe me, if I could find a way to stop this madness that loving you has become, I would.´

He froze at her words. ´What do you want, Anna?´ he asked hoarsely.

She smiled ruefully at that. ´I wanted you to ask me that. Instead of making decisions for me. You hurt me, John. You hurt me so bad that I don´t know if I can ever trust you again.´

He felt as if he was holding on a thread, facing either abyss of absolution. ´What do you want?´ he asked again, almost pleadingly this time.

´I want to able to trust you again,´ she replied seriously. ´I want to know for certain that if I give my heart to you again, it won´t be smashed to pieces.´

´Will you give me a chance?´ his voice was still hesitant, but a note of hope started to shimmer through.

She bit her lip and looked down, doubt evident on her features.

´This time I´ll fight for you,´ he continued to plead his case. ´I´ll wait for you as long as I have to, no matter how long it takes for your heart to heal… I´ll be there. You´re worth everything to me. Just let me try… and love you…´ He held out his hand to her, leaving her the choice to take it or not.

Shakily she placed her gloved hand in his and he closed his eyes as he wrapped his hand around hers, to never let go. Not ever again, he vowed to himself. He heard her exhaling her breath and rejoiced in the lighter look on her face, even if it was only slightly so.

´Walk me home?´ she asked quietly.

He nodded and continued to hold her hand as they walked through the snow-covered streets of Downton. The barrel organ picked up another Christmas tune. It was terribly off key. But it was Christmas. And there was peace in the world. And grace.

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><p><strong>Of course I would like to hear what you think about it!<strong>


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